


Father and Other Father

by Canon_Is_Relative



Series: Winter's Child [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock searches for the perfect names to help their son distinguish between his two fathers, and John and Calvin attempt to teach Sherlock to be a proper daddy. Warnings for baby talk, speaking in plurals and soiled nappies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father and Other Father

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Winter’s Child](https://archiveofourown.org/works/270281) by [ImpishTubist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist). 



> Operates in the Winter's Child 'verse, when Calvin is around 7 months old. This would precede "Burdens of the Father" written by the lovely ImpishTubist, who also beta'd this fic.

John snorted, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock, not quite believing what he'd just heard him say.

"No, Sherlock, we are definitely _not_ going to be 'Father' and 'Other Father.' That's the most absurd thing you've said all day."

"I agree," Sherlock said, elbows braced on the side of Calvin's crib, not taking his eyes from the sleeping child. "That was my point; that's absurd. But he'll have to distinguish between us somehow, and I don't see why he can't simply call us 'John' and 'Sherlock.'"

"Because he _can't_ , that's why. That's not how it works. What'd you call your dad?"

Sherlock blinked up at him and said, blank-faced, "Father."

"Of course you did," John sighed and came to stand across from him, reaching down to tuck Calvin's woolly blanket - his first gift from Mrs. Hudson - up under his chin.

"And what did you call _your_ father?"

John shrugged. "Dad."

"Ah. Dull."

"What, and somehow 'Other Father' is preferable?"

" _No,_ you're not listening, I was trying to make a point."

"Which one would I be, then? Don't tell me - I'd be 'Other.'"

Sherlock loosed an aggrieved sigh and didn't deign to answer. John grinned. Between them, Calvin began to stir.

"Good morning widdle sunshine," John cooed, not caring in the least how ridiculous he sounded. He laughed as Calvin gave a tremendous yawn. "Oh, hel _lo,_ sleepyhead. Welcome back to the world, widdle potato-head."

Sherlock sighed again and folded his arms over his chest. "Perhaps I should state now, unequivocally, that I do not plan on indulging in this kind of 'baby talk' that you and Lestrade - and the rest of the world - seem to find irresistible."

"Oh, let's not listen to daddy, he's a big grump. We know better, don't we, Cal? Oh, lookit you..." He lifted him out of his crib and held him close, rocking him slightly. "We'll show Sherlock, teach him to be a proper daddy, won't we?"

"And I _certainly_ won't be speaking in the plural," Sherlock said, wrinkling his nose.

"Daddy thinks he's smarter than everyone," John whispered conspiratorially into Calvin's ear, grinning at Sherlock. "But we know the truth, don't we, Calvin?"

Sherlock gave another _harrumph_ before stepping around the crib to take Calvin from him. "Oh, do we?" he asked. "And what truth is that, Other Father?"

John just beamed at him and went to the kitchen to get a bottle ready.

\---

Sherlock straightened and pulled the handkerchief away from his nose, looking down on the decomposing corpse at his feet. "What did you call your father, Lestrade?"

"Hey?"

"Your father. What did you call him?"

"Uh. Dad, I guess."

Sherlock gave an impatient sniff and whirled away to examine the rest of the warehouse. Ten minutes later he returned, eyes alight, holding aloft a dented length of pipe which he proceeded to pass off with minimal fuss to Anderson.

"...and be _sure_ to preserve the particulates for me, as soon as you're done. _Text me._ Dad's no good," he added, turning back to Lestrade.

"M'sorry?"

"'Dad.' It's no good."

"Oh...kay...?"

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh, waving his hands in the air, glaring at Lestrade. "He can't call John 'dad' because apparently I'm to be 'daddy,' which is perfectly ridiculous but it's what John wants. _Why_ can't children call their parents by their given names?"

Anderson was staring openly at Sherlock, lips parted in a look that was part amazement, part disgust. Lestrade had to smooth his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Then he took the - _exhausted, excited, frazzled, genius_ \- detective by the shoulders, speaking slowly, looking into his eyes.

"I'll think on it for you, ok? We'll come up with something."

Sherlock blinked, nodded, and was off like a shot again, climbing the fly rails high into the echoing vaults of the warehouse.

 

He was just stepping out of the cab outside Baker Street when his mobile chimed. He pulled it out: Text from Lestrade.

_I called my grandfather Papa. He was the best man I ever knew._

\----

John paused in the doorway, then backed up a bit to stay out of sight, a grin lighting up his face.

Sherlock was pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back again with Calvin balanced on one hip, talking to himself. 

There was nothing terribly unusual about any of this, except that just as John had opened the door he'd heard Sherlock say, "Particulates and security cameras place him in the warehouse at the same time that the gunshots were reported. But we've been over it with our own eyes, haven't we, Cal-cal? There's a body but no bullet wounds. A weeks-old body and no evidence of gunshots anywhere to be found. And we'd find it, wouldn't we. Daddy's too smart to miss something like that; he'd find it if it was there to be found, you know he would."

By then John had one hand firmly clamped over his mouth to keep from laughing. He heard Sherlock's quick steps move back into the kitchen, and a heavy sigh. "The mass spectrometer _clearly_ indicates...what's that, Calvin? Oh, all right. Here, have a look. Maybe you'll see something daddy doesn't."

John tossed his coat onto the back of a chair and walked into the kitchen. Sherlock was sitting at the table with Calvin on his lap, the baby happily playing with a photograph from the crime scene. Sherlock looked up, his eyes going wide and his voice dropping about an octave. "Oh - hello, John. I..."

"Didn't realise I'd come home, yeah I know." John grinned broadly and bent to kiss first his husband, then their son, touching Calvin's cheek softly. "Helping daddy solve his puzzles already, are we, Cal?"

Sherlock scoffed. "He's an infant, John. He hardly has any useful insight."

John laughed, then wrinkled his nose. "You sure he's not hiding your missing body in his nappies?"

Sherlock's eyes went very wide, his mouth forming an unvoiced _Oh._

"What?" John glanced over his shoulder, looking around. "What is it?"

" _Oh!_ " Sherlock finally said, throwing his head back and crowing with laughter, lifting Calvin up into John's arms and bounding to his feet. "Oh, Calvin Jack, you are _brilliant._ " He kissed Cal's forehead loudly and all-but leapt from the kitchen, eyes alight as he tugged on his coat.

"Oh, for - _Sherlock!_ Where are you going?"

But his husband had already run from the flat.

"I swear," John grumbled, adjusting Calvin in his arms and looking seriously into his eyes, "if this is just his way to get out of changing you, his'll be the next body to go missing."

\----

"Sherlock, are you listening?"

"Hm? Yes of course. Is this what you want? The red or the blue?"

"The - what?"

John stuck his head around the door, computer in hand. Sherlock was sprawled on the floor, his face inches from Cal's. The boy stared into his eyes, transfixed, utterly uninterested in the foam building blocks Sherlock was attempting to engage him with.

"Sherlock."

" _What,_ John?"

John gave an exasperated sigh and checked his watch. "The _case._ Lestrade sent you the details half an hour ago. They've traced the Golem to Amsterdam and he needs you to look this over."

"You have to choose _one,_ " Sherlock said to Calvin, very seriously. "Discretion is advised, not everyone will give you this much time to make up your mind. You have to know what you want..." He offered first the red cube, and then the blue cylinder, "and take it. Do you understand?"

"For God's sake, Sherlock he's _seven months old, no_ he doesn't understand!"

"Don't listen to papa," Sherlock cooed, stroking Calvin's cheek with the back of a finger, "he's stroppy because daddy has a case and he doesn't care, he'd rather play with you."

"Sherlock," John said from behind clenched teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose, "there are lives at stake, here. I don't know how to say it any plainer than this. Lestrade has a whole _team_ of people about to close in on the _Golem,_ the freak who almost _killed_ you, and they'll be going in blind because you can't take five bloody minutes to look over the information he sent you."

Sherlock smoothed his hand over Calvin's silky hair, then rocked back onto his heels, pushing himself up into a crouch and bending down to kiss Cal's head. Looking seriously into his eyes, he said, "Daddy cares more about you than about a whole team of strangers. The needs of Sherlock's one outweigh the needs of Lestrade's many. How's that for illogic, Cally Jack? That's real love for you. Don't forget it."

He rose smoothly and crossed to take the computer from John, not looking at him.

John clenched his fists, counted to three, and let out the breath he was holding. He crossed the room to pick Calvin up, settling him on his hip. Under his breath he murmured, "Daddy's mad, Calvin. Don't forget _that._ Completely bloody mad. Are you hungry, buddy? Time for some din-din?"

Calvin burbled and flailed his hands, wriggling in delight.

"Well ok, then. All you had to do was ask." John kissed his cheek as they made their way to the kitchen.


End file.
